


Bangers & Mash

by acalmingcupoftea



Category: Elementary (TV), Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:24:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2605121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acalmingcupoftea/pseuds/acalmingcupoftea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod Crane spends some time with Mycroft Holmes.</p><p>Set before the S2 Mycroft arc in Elementary but in “real time” for Sleepy Hollow</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bangers & Mash

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to specialrhino for the beta~

“I told you Crane, you can’t come in here,” Abbie Mills said, turning on the steps leading up to the New York City Police Precinct.“Reyes set this meeting up, and you know how she feels about you participating in police work.”

Ichabod Crane rolled his eyes in what Abbie felt was a most modern fashion before replying, “If this lead is to find us the Horseman of Pestilence, then I have every right to be there. This is witness work, Lieutenant, not police work! While I shrink from the specter of Reyes in Sleepy Hollow, I shall not let that extend two day’s horseback ride to New York City.”

Abbie crossed her arms, used to Crane’s hot-tempered rages. “Are you finished?” she asked drolly, eyebrows raised.

Ichabod huffed and, crossing his own arms, nodded.

“While all of that is true, _Reyes_ sent us here to give us a lead on the recent outbreaks of strange and rare diseases which we _think_ is related to a horseman. So technically it is police work.”

Ichabod sighed and, acknowledging Abbie’s point, said, “The sooner we can get Captain Reyes on our side or Captain Irving back to his role, the better.”

“Amen to that.” Abbie gestured across the street. “Why don’t you go wait at that restaurant over there. I’ll come get you when I’m finished.” 

Ichabod turned to look at the establishment. “Diogenes? What sort of name is that for a restaurant? The actual Diogenes of Sniope rejected all things material and excessive, traits a restaurant perfectly embodies.”

When he turned back to look at Abbie, she was already walking inside the precinct. Grumbling to himself, Ichabod jaywalked across the street and pulled open the doors to the restaurant.

The inside was just as garish and modern as Ichabod imagined it would be. While most people found the decor to be elegant, streamlined, and as the restaurant reviewer for the _New York Times_ delightfully put it, “urban chic meets industraliam,” Ichabod found it cold and stifling.

Despite his fraught relationship with the 21st century, he was very lucky to have woken up in Sleepy Hollow. The community was made of the same brickwork and old wood from his time. The smell was comforting and recognizable. Nothing was greater than three stories tall and even the streetlamps were still made of wrought iron, though they ran on electricity now. Sleepy Hollow was a town that, as much as it was modern, couldn’t let go of its past. It reminded him almost of home, Katrina wrapped in his arms.

It seemed the city of New York, with it’s towering metal and glass monuments to modernity littering the horizon, wanted to shed any connection that remained to his America. For the first time since his return to the land of the living, Ichabod felt like an unwanted remnant from a bygone era.

Diogenes was relatively empty, which surprised Ichabod considering it had just turned five in the evening. It seemed what Abbie had said about cities was true; you could do anything at any time. Ichabod picked up a rough brown menu from the hostess’ stand and flipped it open, astonished to find only a handful of options, which with a different font and spacing would hardly fill half the page.

“Would you like to sit down?” a quiet, British voice asked from behind him.

Ichabod turned and studied the man in front of the hostess stand. He was very tall and quite thin. His hair was strawberry blonde and straggly, thinner than it should be for a man of his approximate age. His face was long and tired - the kind of tired that no amount of sleep could remedy. The stubble on his face dotted up to a surprisingly thick mustache. His suit was a burgundy color which reminded Ichabod too much of the redcoats from his military days.

‘I am quite alright. Thank you.” 

At the sound of his accent, the man’s face lit up.

“Ah! Another friend from across the pond. Now I have to serve you.” He gestured for Ichabod to follow him.

Flummoxed, Ichabod said, “I don’t have any money to pay.”

Unperturbed, the man replied, “It’s on the house. And as you can see, we really aren’t that busy.”

As it seemed there was no way out of this, Ichabod took a seat at a nearby table, facing the door so he could see the instant Abbie walked in.

“Did you see something you liked?” The man asked. 

Ichabod shook his head “no.”

“That’s alright then. I’ll pick for you.” And then he went back to the kitchen area, leaving Ichabod alone to wait.

Ichabod didn’t know what to do. He wanted to leave, but propriety stated that he accept the free meal from this strange man. And if he didn’t have his propriety, what would he be then? No better than the Headless Horseman. Besides, it seemed this fellow needed to connect with someone who came from the same country as him (despite the centuries and allegiances separating them), he might as well try to help? Right?

Still struggling internally, Ichabod didn’t notice the return of the man, holding a plate of food. It was, unexpectedly, something he recognized - bangers and mash.

“You look like you could use a taste of home.” The man said, setting the plate down on the table and sitting in the chair across from Ichabod.

Ichabod sniggered, the man would never know how true his statement was, and then picked up a knife and fork. He sliced a chunk of the sausage and swabbed it in the potatoes before placing it in his mouth. The flavor was incredible. The sausage was a bit greasy and the potatoes creamy with a hint of something Ichabod couldn’t quite place but knew he liked.

He smiled at the man as he said, “Thank you for this Mr.…?” He took another bite of the food.

“Mycroft. I’m Mycroft Holmes.” Mycroft inclined his head.

“Ichabod Crane, at your service.” Ichabod replied, reciprocating the gesture. “I didn’t realize quite how much I needed a reminder of home and normalcy. Things have been a bit...stressful for me as of late.”

Mycroft nodded. “Tell me about it. Do you ever just wish you could change something in your past? Just told one person, one little thing? As if that would change your present…” His voice drifted off.

“I have found, that anything you think you could change in your past can’t be changed. You cannot right your past wrongs. You can only strive to do better next time.” Ichabod said, swiping up the last bit of potato with his fork.

Mycroft looked at Ichabod for a moment before saying, “You know...you remind me a lot of someone…”

A bell tinkled as Abbie walked into the restaurant. Mycroft and Ichabod, who hadn’t seen her walk up through the glass of front doors, looked over at her.

“Crane! You ready?” Abbie called from the front of the restaurant. Noticing the fork halfway to his mouth and the empty plate she added, “Do you need me to pay for that?”

“Ah…,” Ichabod glanced at Mycroft who nodded, ensuring that the offer of free food still stood. “No. It’s already been taken care of.”

As he got up from the table he said, “Thank you Mr. Holmes for the food. It was...just what I needed.”

Mycroft’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s nice to be able to give someone around here what they need.”

Ichabod clasped Mycroft’s shoulder as he passed and followed Abbie out of the restaurant.

“Do I even want to know what was going on back there?” Abbie asked once they were on the street.

“I don’t think I’d even be able to tell you Lieutenant if I knew. But I feel the better for it.” He could feel the warmth of the food in his stomach flowing throughout his body. “Now, tell me there is some news on those diseases?”

“Unfortunately it was a dead end but the strangest British man,” she glanced at Crane, “well, maybe not the strangest, and his partner were able to give me some clues on where to go next…”


End file.
